


Zero to Sixty

by Army C (arh581958)



Series: #GallavichWeek [5]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Anal Sex, Bottom!Mickey, Day 5 - Different Encounters, First Everything, First Meetings, First Time, GW2016, Ian's hot and awkward, M/M, Mechanic!Mickey, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn What Plot, Porn Without Plot, RacecarDriver!Ian, Sex, Smut, Topping from the Bottom, power bottom!Mickey, sex at first sight, smutiness, unapologetic porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-24 19:04:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7519678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arh581958/pseuds/Army%20C
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian Gallagher's the breakout name in the racing scene. With the looks and the skills, he's steadily becoming the new rising superstar. It's a decent job with decent pay and decent benefits, but that's not what draws him to the track. He loves the thrill of being behind the wheel,  the roar of the engine under his feet and the solid weight of the steering wheel in his hands. A chance encounter with the thuggish looking mechanic just might change all that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Zero to Sixty

**Author's Note:**

> Part 5 to my GallavichWeek2016 Series. Day 5 - Different Encounters.
> 
> Why did I think of this? This is unapologetic porn. I wrote this because I had this picture of RacecarDriver!Ian fucking Mechanic!Mickey while still in his jumpsuit. Said suit described in the story is anatomically incorrect and a mere figment of my imagination--with buttons at the neck and a zipper all the way down to Ian's groin, that's the only way in and out of it. Real protective race suits aren't like that. Bear with me. _Imagine the imagery!_
> 
> **Not Beta Read. Open for Volunteers.**

Twenty-one years old, and Ian’s the youngest driver in the circuit. He’s been driving since he was thirteen going on fourteen, from the shitty family minivan to delivery trucks for _Kash and Grab_. It’s the only thing he’s good at that doesn’t involve selling his body—too much.

Decent job. Decent pay. Decent benefits. He gets dental now and it puts food on his family’s table.

All that’s great but he races for another reason.

There’s nothing like the thrill of being behind the wheel, hearing the roar of the engine under his feet and the solid weight of the steering wheel in his hands. Driving is liberating. When he’s in the driver’s seat, he feels like nothing can ever stop him. He’s invincible.

“That was great, Ian! Best time yet!” A voice calls out not far from the track. Lloyd’s clapping at the sidelines in his swanky tweed suit with sunglasses on his eyes. He looks like rich-guy backing this whole she-bang exactly because he _did_ own the team.

Ian pulls himself out of the window via the handle support beams. It’s an easy slide. One that he’s done over a hundred times. His arms burn with the strain of pulling his whole body weight but he likes it.

Pulling off his gear, he greets Lloyd with a smile. His red hair appears even more vibrant under the sunlight. He leans against the door and rocks on his heels with the helmet cradled in his arms.

“Hey.”

Lloyd causally slides next to him, placing a hand on the roof. “How’s she feel today?”

“Better. But there’s still a slight drag at the turns. Axis might be a little off,” Ian answers honestly.

“Oh?” Lloyd props his arm against the roof, narrowing the space between them. He’s not being careful. So few people are on the track. It’s just the pit crew and a handful of maintenance workers in the stands. He places a hand on Ian’s leg. “Then how about we make a few—” he trailed his hand up Ian’s thigh, “—adjustments then.”

Ian is used to it by now. Lloyd isn’t necessarily the best lay but he’s not bad either. Besides, he offered Ian the gig after all. Flirting isn’t too much of a hassle either. It’s fun with no string attached. Both of them are happy with the arrangement.

“When and where, boss?” He asks, keeping it cool but without being cocky.

Lloyd pats the car twice then jerks his head toward the garage. “Why don’t you park her inside and I’ll see you in my office in ten?”

“Fifteen,” Ian bargains, and the other agrees. He throws his helmet into the car before jumping inside. The engine purrs when he starts the car. It’s the sweetest music to his ears. In the rearview mirror, he sees Lloyd’s retreating back headed to his office.

The garage is on the other side of the lot. He floors the pedal to give him more time to walk. Running around in the jumpsuit isn’t fun. It’s hot as balls inside it, and he prefers to fuck out of it. They have a family dinner lined up tonight and he’s really looking forward to it.

A long mechanic smirks at Ian when he exits the car. The guy’s paler than should be legal, probably because he spends most of his time in doors, skin nearly as white as snow. Ain’t Ian a real poet? The guy’s in dark grey overalls, only half-zipped and messy with grease. Black hair peaks under the dark bandana tied around his head.

Ian can’t remember the guy’s name but his skin prickles because of that gaze.

“What are you looking at?” he barks out, miffed, but the guy’s smirk grows even wider and smugly crosses arms over his chest. It makes Ian hot under his skin. Familiar but novel at the same time. He’s hot under his collar, hair matting on his forehead, and skin sticking to jumpsuit. Nervousness hasn’t been his thing ages. “What?!”

The guy shakes his head and goes up to the car, chuckling under his breath. “A little off at the turn?” He asks, completely disregarding Ian’s flustered state. It catches Ian by surprise.

“Yeah,” Ian nods and fidgets with the ends of his sleeves, “how’d you know?”

Mechanic guy raises his eyebrow and snorts. “Eyy, I might be a mechanic but I have eye, ayt? I could see it a mile away. I _did_ see it a mile away, ayt?”

“You were watching me?” Ian gapes.

This time, the buy blushes. “Of course I was. That’s what I’m here for, ain’t it? Fix the damn car. What the fuck do you even care, Firecrotch? Don’t you got some other place to be?” He crosses arms defensively over his chest.

Ian cannot help but be intrigued. “Sounds to me like you were looking closer than usual,” he says, not minding the nickname at all. He realizes, up-close, that the guy’s actually a few inches shorter than him and a little bit wider. ‘ _Arms of a mechanic’_ , he thinks, and suddenly he wants to see more.

Mechanic guy avoids the question and goes to gather his tools. He gives Ian a full display of his glorious bubble butt when he bends over to reach for the tray under the table. It’s a very nice ass, one that Ian can bounce quarters off.

He catches Ian watching. “Staring at my ass, really? Ain’t you and viagroid already banging?”

“So you _were_ watching me closely!” Ian smirks, triumphant. “ _Me_ , not the car,” he adds, expressing exactly what he wanted using his eyes.

The mechanic grins with extra bravado. “Yeah? So what if I was? You ain’t exactly hard on the eyes, plus you looking pretty hot in that jumpsuit. I bet you’d love to fuck by just pulling down the zipper and nothing else.”

‘ _Yes,_ _I’d like to bend you over the fucking hood right fucking now if the metal isn’t too fucking hot’,_ and the word ‘fucking’ goes through Ian’s mind on a loop. He knows exactly who he wants to fuck right now.

“That can be arranged,” he says, going for cocking.

Mechanic guy doesn’t back down. “Really?” The smirk on his face grows ever wider. His eyes dart around the garage as if making sure they were really alone. “Don’t you have a booty call with old man smiley back in his office, Firecrotch?”

It’s true. He did, but the question sounds so much like a challenge that fuels Ian’s drive. He stands up straighter, extending his reach by an inch or so more. The height difference kind of turns him on.

“I don’t think I have to go all the way there to get some ass.” He feigns casual by tugging off his gloves. They’re thrown carelessly into the window and fall onto the driver’s seat. He smirks, making it obviously cocky just to see the other man’s reaction. He sees the man visibly swallow, and goes in for the kill.

“This way, I won’t have to walk too far in this thing.”

The guy meets his smirk. “So poster-boy Red ain’t as goody-goodie as they say, huh?” His amusement plays clear in his words. “What the fuck makes you think I’m interested? I ain’t the kind of man you pick up at a bar.”

“This isn’t a bar.” Ian cocks his head. His finger starts snapping the buttons at his neck, then pulls down the zipper. In the quiet, the _ziiiing_ of the zipper echoes like thunder. The guy’s breath hitches. He wants more of that, more of those reactions, just _more_ , and he plans to get it.

“No cameras either.” He throws out casually.

It seems to make the guy perk up. “No cameras, huh?”

“Nope.” Ian wants to let out a whoop. The guy walks towards him with a different gait to his step—purposeful, and almost feral. It makes his dick jump banefully inside his jockstrap. A hand catches his, mid-way down his chest, trapping him between the smaller, paler fingers and his half-exposed chest. Blue eyes stare at him intensely, and all the air’s knocked out of him.

The mechanic pushes him against the side of the door, touch firm but not rough.

“Well, I’ll be damned, we’re not.” They’re pressed from shins to shoulder, faces inches apart when the guy finally speaks. “That’ll depend—” So close that Ian feels his breath warm against his lips. He finds himself licking his lips unconsciously, “—do you catch or pitch, Firecrotch?”

“Ian,” Ian corrects without thinking. It throws the guy off.

“What?”

“Ian, that’s uhm… my name—it’s Ian.” For a second, he thinks that the guy might just reel back and push him away. Punch him or something. He holds his breath. An eternity passes before the guy moves again. This isn’t supposed to a booty call but something in Ian’s chest flips.

The guy’s lips curve into a _smile_ , not a smirk that’s cocky and teasing but a shy-looking smile. It makes it seem like he never expected Ian to introduce himself or offer his name. “Mickey.”

‘Mickey’, Ian thinks and he just knows he’s got a loop smile on his face now.

Mickey laughs. It travels through his whole body and his entire face lights up. Ian needs a pair of sunglasses just to get away from the binding light of it. A hand slides under his partly open jumpsuit. Dry calloused hands touch his sweat-damp and fast-drying skin.

“Mickey,” Ian moans at the touch, “fuck.” The touch burns hotter than the inside of the race car. There’s a familiar thrum under his skin, in his blood, pumping through his veins. He can’t even talk with how much he wants.

Mickey, the bastard, is enjoying this. He rubs their clothes groins together while he starts teasing fingers over Ian’s nipples. Ian’s knees grow weak at the sensation and he slides down with only Mickey’s knees pinning him upright. The sneaky bastard uses the opportunity to whisper into Ian’s ear.

“So, _Ian_ , top or bottom?”

 _Top, top, top_ , his brain supplies but Ian thinks that for Mickey’s he might be willing to bottom too.

“Anything.” He ends up saying because Mickey’s hands play over his skin like a seasoned pianist at a concert. His hands fly up to Mickey’s shoulders as he arches against the shorter man, straining, begging, _hoping_ to feel something underneath the protective cup. It doesn’t work.

“Please,” he whimpers into Mickey’s neck, “I want…” Desperate, he trails his hands down Mickey’s back, feeling the rigid well-defined muscles then cups the man’s glorious round ass then _kneads_. It’s firm and round. He wants to leave finger-shaped bruises all over the perky gluts.

“What do you want, _Ian_?” The use of his names is a tease in itself, and Mickey’s teasing tone amplifies it two fold. “Do you want to fuck me or do you want me to fuck you? I ain’t got all day, Firecrotch, or I’m pulling out and getting under this car to do dirty things that involve oil and grease not lube and slick.”

Mickey snakes a hand further under Ian’s jumpsuit, skimming the pale skin of Ian’s stomach then even lower. He smirks grow wider feeling the heated skin, sweaty from a morning of laps around the track. A thin happy trail tickles the underside of his hand.

Ian can’t suppress his moan when fingers reach the hem of his jockstrap.

Mickey licks his lips. “You like that, Firecrotch?”

“Y—yes,” Ian mutters, one hand reaching back to the car for support while the other digs onto Mickey’s ass until his knuckles grow white. “Fuck, touch me, Mickey, please, fuck.” He groans, desperately bucking at the first touch of skin on skin.

“This?” Mickey teases, running the pad of his finger on the underside of Ian’s cock. His voice dips octaves lower. “You like this? You want my hand on your _cock_?” he stresses the word with a heated breath along Ian’s jaw, “You want my fingers gripping you tight? You want to fuck into my fist until you come?”

Ian whimpers at the words, all higher brain functions gone, unable to form any coherent thought.

“Mickey,” is all he says, and it’s a plea and prayer at the same time, “Mickey, _please_.” He doesn’t even know what he’s begging for. The hand on his cock burns hotter than the hottest day in Chicago, heated and dry and _there_. He wants it to bad. He wants everything that Mickey said, everything that Mickey’s willing to give him. He’ll do anything for it. “Please, Mickey, please. All of it. Anything.”

He moans loudly, so loud that it echoes through the garage, when Mickey begins pumping him in earnest with rough calloused fingers sliding up and down his cock with practiced confidence. The pressure just right to make him feel every bump on his girth. His knees grow weak, and arms go around the shorter man for support.

“Mickey,” the name comes out of desperation, “Mickey, _fuck_.”

Ian bucks his hips into the Mickey’s fist, back bowing against the car, hands gripping Mickey’s shoulders like a vise. It’s everything and all things, too much, too soon, flowing in a single instance. For a moment, he forgets the rest of the world when Mickey slithers down his body and wraps lips around him. His head thumps back against the roof with a dull _thud_ , but not even the sharp pain deters his leaking erection.

Mickey’s mouth is hot, wet, and perfect around him, sealed tightly over the head as the man sucks him down with tantalizing ease. Pink-red, chapped, fat lips are stretched over his thickness. It takes all of him to control himself from coming right then and there. Those same lips curve into a smile around his cock, cocky and sure, before taking him like a pro. He feels himself hitting the back of Mickey’s throat. It flutters and closes around him.

“Oh god.” His knees buckle underneath him.

They go crashing down to the floor. Above him, Mickey’s grinning like a smug talented bastard, one hand still wrapped tightly around Ian’s cock, keeping the redhead from coming.

“Too much, Firecrotch?” Mickey asks cheekily, tightening his grip to make Ian his. He makes a show of licking his lip. Pink, shining tongue moving past the plump muscles which, just moments ago, were stretched thin around Ian. He leans down, enough that every breath passes from his mouth to Ian’s. “You still haven’t answered my question. How’d you wanna take it?”

Ian gets flashes of Mickey’s lips wrapped around him, then flashes of Mickey’s pale ass brimming with his cock. “Fuck,” he breathes out, breathless. “I want to fuck you, fuck Mickey, please, I wanna cum inside your ass.”

It takes a moment, barely a moment really, then Mickey’s moving around him.

“Fuck, Gallagher, _Ian_.”

A second later Ian’s feels _heat_. Mickey’s ass slides slowly over him, so hot, so good. It feels like his cock is going to melt inside the man on top of him. He loses words. He loses time. He loses everything else except for how Mickey swallowing him to the base. When he opens his eyes, he sees crooked white teeth biting down those kiss-swollen lips as if Mickey’s stopping his own embarrassing sounds from spilling out.

Ian reaches forward, runs a hand over the indentations, then parts those lips with his thumb.

“Let me hear you,” he hears his voice say, “I want to hear you be loud.”

Mickey moves; then, just like that, he falls apart. Ian doesn’t know when he had time to prep, or if he even prepped at all, but Mickey’s is grinding in tantalizingly slow circles with little pants coming from his parted lips. It’s a mesmerizing sight to see the dark-haired man coming apart above him with hair beading his forehead, down his neck, and on his palms.

The bandana falls down to Mickey’s neck and his bangs fall all over his face. He clutches at Ian’s half-open jumpsuit. Even then, Ian’s nearly fully clothes while Mickey’s pants are pushed down passed his thighs. His legs tremble at the effort to build a rhythm.

Ian spreads his hands all over Mickey’s backside, and helps the other man along. The skin’s damp from sweat and oh-so-soft, save a spot on Mickey’s asscheek that feels smoother than the rest. It must be a scar, Ian thinks, and he saves that thought to ask about it on another time.

\--If there will be a next time.

“Mickey, fuck, you feel so good,” he says out lout, urging the man on.

Mickey’s hands claw at his chest in a way that he’s sure to remember tomorrow. The bruises that are forming right now will be sensitive and tender for the rest of the week. He lets go and let Mickey take control. It’s amazing. It’s a thrill. It’s like he can step back and watch Mickey takes the driver’s seat, except instead of the engine purring, it’s their unsteady breaths mingling between them.

Ian palms Mickey’s asks, and coax the man to move faster. “Come on, come on, chase it, Mickey.”

Mickey obeys without hesitation. His legs pump up and down, muscles straining to take all his weight, lifting then seating his entire weight on Ian’s body. Every cock-clenching time Mickey bottoms out, Ian’s toes curl inside his shoes at the feeling of the hot channel squeezing all nine inches of him.

“Mickey, Mickey, Mickey.” He spills, without a condom, inside. Mickey jerks himself off one, two, three times then follows, and he comes all over Ian’s exposed chest in white ropey stripes.

“Fuck,” Mickey exhales, planting his forehead on Ian’s sternum, back bowed but he doesn’t touch the mess between them. “Fuck, Gallagher, that was _fuck_. Your cock is an animal.”

Ian doesn’t know why but he finds that funny. He laughs, and it vibrates all the way down to where they are connected, to where his cum is making its way down, barely leaking, out of Mickey’s stretched rim. He stays stock still as they regulate their breathing.

Mickey’s clothes are sticking to his frame. Ian sees the outline of his muscles as they shake. He reaches out without thinking, and Mickey stills.

“Hey,” He says gently, voice raspy and broken, “are you okay?”

“You okay?”

Words are mumbled into his skin but he can’t understand him. Ian waits. He knows when to prod and when not to prod. Right now is part of the latter. He waits Mickey out until the man relaxes enough for him to slip free. Immediately, the warm sticky trail of his cum coats his limp cock. It’s messy and disgusting but he wants nothing more than to flip Mickey around and eat him out.

That’s exactly what he does.

“Gallagher, what the f—?!” Mickey’s cut off into a moan as Ian licks a board stripe over his sensitive hole.

Ian tastes himself and tastes blood. Mickey really didn’t prep himself enough for him. He licks at the asshole apologetically, caressing the tender flesh with his tongue and lip. He uses them as an apology, and coax Mickey into coming apart for the second time.

It’s strange and different. He’s never gotten the urge to lick someone open before, but with Mickey, even with the cum and blood, there’s nothing he would rather be doing. He pulls up, spreading the cheeks with his hands to see the rim dark red and puffy from the abuse. He kisses it and licks it, willing the swelling to go down even for just a little while.

Ian stops himself from using fingers but he makes Mickey come two more times with just his mouth.

They collapse on a mess of limbs on the dirty garage floor with Ian still in his clothes and Mickey half-naked from the waist down. They don’t talk. They just lie there with their arms side by side, touching but not quite. It’s a comfortable silence unlike the normal post-sex hook up that Ian’s used to with men behind bars or in dingy motel rooms when he’s strapped for cash.

He realizes, belatedly, that Mickey just might be the first person he’s slept with that he cannot ask for cash. They just did it because they could and they wanted to, and not because Ian needed money to add to the squirrel fund or any other ulterior motive.

His heart skips a beat, and his breath hitches at the thought.

Beside him, Mickey starts pulling back his clothes.

“So…” He tries to say but words refuse to come out. He tilts his head and watches Mickey pull up his pants redo his bandana. There’s a scar on the right ass-cheek which he wants to asks about.

Mickey hovers over him, perhaps the only time he’ll be able to look down on Ian.

“You stink of sweat and sex, Gallagher,” he tells Ian casually, and not at all sounding like he’s wreaked Ian for everyone else after this, perhaps because he doesn’t know it, “You should take a shower and cool off. I hear there’s be heat later.”

Ian blushes when he sniffs the air and smells his own pungent scent. Mickey’s stench is there too, but Ian likes it, likes the way the mechanic smells. “Yeah,” he mumbles as he stands, “You, erhm, wanna join me?”

Mickey smiles a little. He hides his with his hand before waving Ian off. “Can’t” He shakes his head and gestures to the car behind him. “I gotta get my hands inside her and fix’er up first.”

Ian deflates a little but nods in understanding. He walks towards the door, and glances back to see Mickey limp towards the car and bend over under the hood. His cock twitches at the sight of the fabric stretching across Mickey’s ass to highlight the perfectly round pair of globes. He thinks about the way Mickey looks when he jerks off in the shower.

Next time, he thinks, next time he’ll bend Mickey over the hood for real.

**Author's Note:**

> Again, this was supposed to have more depth and meaning but it ended up as porn. To expand or not to expand? It was supposed to be a slow-burn with them eye-fucking for a hell of a long time before they got down and dirty. But then, I wrote the porn first and was surprised that I already had about 3k words! Oh well. I hope you liked it~ 
> 
> If you have a prompt or an idea, you can [INSPIRE ME](http://arh581958.tumblr.com/submit) on tumblr. Or [TALK TO ME](http://arh581958.tumblr.com/ask)~
> 
> As always, **kudos/comments/bookmarks** are all appreciated by this author. I take comments as extra-kudos and I _do_ read the bookmark tags (some are really fun).


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